


Back Alleys and Bandages

by From_Dusk_to_Dawn



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:48:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,459
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5972947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/From_Dusk_to_Dawn/pseuds/From_Dusk_to_Dawn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“If a bullet wound is minor, I really don’t want to know what you consider major.”</p>
<p>In which Clarke encounters an attractive bleeding stranger in an alley and feels the need to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back Alleys and Bandages

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Gabi,  
> Challenge accepted.  
> Dusk

 

The night is bitterly cold when Clarke steps out into it.  She pulls her coat around her tighter, wishing she’d brought at least a scarf.  She grits her teeth.  It’s another ten minute walk to the subway.  This was stupid.  She should have just taken Octavia up on the offer to crash there.  It’s dark and the streetlights flicker like something out of a bad horror movie.

 

Shuddering a little, Clarke is halfway contemplating just going back to Octavia’s when she hears a muffled groan of pain.  Clarke frowns and is halfway to ignoring it when there’s a shout and then a thud.

 

Clarke hesitates.  She knows that the smart thing would be to walk away.  She is unarmed and while this isn’t necessarily a bad part of town, it isn’t the safest either.  

 

But she’s already made it a life goal to protect others.  And she can’t just ignore the situation either.  But that doesn’t mean she can’t be smart about it.  So with that in mind she fishes out her phone and pre-dials 911, letting her thumb hover over the call button as she walks towards the noise.

 

She doesn’t know exactly what she’s expecting when she turns the corner of the alleyway, but it is definitely not what she sees.  A lithe brunette stands facing her, four men in a semi-circle around her.  Amazingly, the brunette seems relatively unfazed, but one of the men is partially hunched over and holding his ribs and another seems to be favoring his left leg.

 

The brunette is calm and if she notices Clarke, she says nothing.

 

One of the men is speaking.

 

“Come on Lex.  You know he’ll get his way eventually.  Why fight it?  We’re all sensible business people here.”

 

Lex--apparently--is terse when she replies, “if he wanted to do business, he would not have sent four of his thugs after me late at night when I was alone and unarmed.”

 

Another of the men scoffs.

 

“Come on Lexa.  Why you gotta be like this, huh?”

 

Lexa doesn’t reply, doesn’t get the chance to.

 

One of the men who hasn’t spoken--the one favoring his left leg--decides to take a swing at her and all hell breaks loose.

 

Before Clarke even has time to comprehend what’s happening, Lexa drops, sweeping one foot out in front of her to batter his leg again, tripping him up.  He drops almost instantly.

 

The two that spoke leap to help, but Lexa shifts so her body weight is centered and then jumps up, kicking each in the chin at the same time, before landing lightly on her feet, bouncing slightly on her toes, fists raised protectively in front of her.  Both men go flying, such is the force of her kicks.

 

Clarke can’t help but admire Lexa, who is the picture of poise and grace even as she’s royally kicking ass.  Four enormous hulking men attacking and she makes it look like child’s play.  Her eyes are alert as she scans them warily, flitting only briefly to Clarke’s, before back to her aggressors.

 

The last one that was favoring his ribs, leans in to punch, but he’s too slow for her--they could be moving at the pace of sloths for all it seems to bother her--and she ducks under his punch, spinning elegantly to elbow him in the exact same place he was clutching earlier.  He groans.

 

“ _Bitch_ ,” he spits, as he stumbles back.  Suddenly, _suddenly_ he is reaching for his belt and he has a gun, and Lexa’s eyes are widening, and she’s jumping away just as he pulls the trigger.  Her body jerks, and it’s clear the bullet caught her at least a little.  The other two that she’d kicked are back up again and they move to help him, circling her like prey, before Clarke finally-- _finally_ \--regains use of her voice.

 

“Hey!  Leave her alone or I’ll call the cops!”  She waves her phone in the air for emphasis.

 

All three spin to look at her and the murder in their faces is enough to make Clarke gulp and want to stand back.  She stands her ground instead.

 

“I mean it!  I’ve already got my finger on the button to call 911.”

 

The man with the gun cocks an eyebrow.  “Yeah blondie, but if I shoot you, you’ll be dead before you can tell them anything.”

 

Oh god.  Now Clarke _really_ feels like she did not think this through.

 

The man smirks and cocks the gun, but there is a light skidding of steps and Lexa is in front of her again, blocking the gun from view.  With the way she moves, it’s clear she’s in pain, but she stands tall when she speaks and her voice doesn’t waver.

 

“That’s _enough_ ,” she growls.

 

The man with the gun snorts and now all three of his buddies are there to back him up, smirking.

 

“Lexa you might be better at fighting with all your fancy martial arts skills, but even _you_ can’t beat a gun.”

 

“Oh yeah?” she says, stepping up until her forehead is almost directly lined up with the weapon.

 

Great.  Now Clarke has officially risked her life for someone with a death wish.  

 

Lexa’s hand twitches and Clarke frowns.  It twitches again, in a motion that clearly indicates her to step to the side.  Clarke’s brow furrows, but she complies, shifting just slightly over while attempting not to attract attention.  Clarke doesn’t know if Lexa can see her, but she assumes she can because the brunette relaxes just slightly.  Luckily none of the men seem to notice, or if they do they don’t think it’s significant.

 

The man smirks at Lexa and Lexa steps forward, her head now actually touching the gun.

 

The smirk widens.  

 

“I wasn’t planning to, but I guess I can take you out fir--”

 

He doesn’t get a chance to finish his sentence because in a move almost too fluid for Clarke to catch, Lexa rolls her head to the side of the gun so she’s out of the line of fire.  The gun goes off, but Lexa is entirely to its side, forehead pressed against the barrel of the gun, and body firmly out of the way.  Clarke sees now why Lexa wanted her to move to the side and she trembles a little at the fact that the bullet went straight through where she was just standing.

 

Simultaneously, Lexa’s hands snap up towards the hand holding the gun, one striking above the man’s wrist and one below.  The gun pops free and Lexa snatches it, turning the gun back on her attackers.

 

“Let’s try this again,” she growls, “ _leave_.”

 

This time they listen, all four of them turning and fleeing the scene.  Lexa doesn’t relax until they’re completely gone from her vision and then only fractionally.  Her stance collapses just a smidge, but her hand does shoot up to clutch a little at her side.

 

This spurs Clarke into action and she’s instantly next to the girl.

 

“Oh god okay.  Okay.”

 

She puts her palm over Lexa’s applying a firm pressure.

 

“We’ve got to get you to the hospital.”

 

“ _No_.”

 

Clarke’s head snaps up.

 

“No?” she repeats incredulously, “in case you didn’t realize Lexa, you were _shot_.  You definitely need to go to the hospital.”

 

“ _No_.”

 

Clarke huffs and decides to ignore her.

 

“Okay clearly you’re not in your right frame of mind so I’m just going to call an ambulance.”

 

“I said _no_.”

 

Lexa’s eyes are startlingly clear, but also so, _so_ green when Clarke’s eyes meet hers.

 

“Do you have a death wish or something?  You need to get this treated!”

 

Lexa grimaces.

 

“I do not have insurance and hospitals are painfully expensive.  I am not going to bankrupt my business for something as minor as this.”

 

Clarke concedes the expensive point--she knows as well as anyone else how insane those prices can get--but holds her ground.

 

“If a _bullet wound_ is minor, I really don’t want to know what you consider major.”

 

Lexa huffs, but her lips twist upwards into something resembling a smirk as she shuffles forward, clearly knowing where she’s going.  Clarke reluctantly moves with her.

 

“I will be fine.  My place is not that far from here.”

 

“ _Lexa_.”

 

A beat.

 

“I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage.  You have obviously heard my name, but I do not know yours.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes.  

 

“You’re stalling.  I’m not about to forget the fact that you’ve got a bullet wound,” Clarke mutters.  She sighs before realizing that Lexa isn’t wrong.  “Clarke,” she finally says, “my name is Clarke.”

 

Lexa’s mouth twists more and she seems amused.

 

“Clarke.  I’m Lexa.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes again.

 

“You’re stupid,” she informs the other girl.

 

Lexa shrugs, then winces a little.

 

“It’s fine.  We are here anyway.”

 

Clarke blinks and realizes they’re standing in front of an apartment building.  Lexa looks at her expectantly and Clarke realizes she has no idea why.

 

“Um, why are you looking at me like that?”

 

“You can let go now.  I appreciate the help getting home, although I did not need it.”

 

Clarke fights the urge to scoff and continues shuffling forward, helping Lexa up the short flight of steps to the front.

 

“Yeah, no.  I’m not letting you out of my sight till we’ve at least bandaged you up properly.”

 

Lexa raises an eyebrow.

 

“I am more than sufficient at patching up my own wounds.  I have done it before.”

 

“Sure you have cowgirl.  But given how little you seem to care about your own health, you’ll forgive me if I make sure it’s done right.”

 

It’s Lexa’s turn to scoff.

 

“I have seen myself through plenty of wounds.  Why should I take advice from _you_?”

 

“Because,” Clarke says, levelling her with the same stare she uses on her most difficult patients, “I’m a third-year med student and I’ve been an EMT since I was old enough to get the license.  So if you absolutely refuse to go to the hospital, then _yes_ I insist on patching you up.”

 

Lexa sighs, but doesn’t protest any further so Clarke counts it as a win.

 

_____

 

 

Clarke feels slightly less than impressed twenty minutes later when she finds out Lexa has only the most rudimentary of medical supplies.  

 

“Are you kidding me Lexa,” she grumbles as she roots through the medicine cabinet that Lexa had claimed held what she needed to be patched up.

 

There’s a half-empty box of bandaids and a roll of gauze.  

 

This is the extent of what she has to work with to patch up a bullet wound.  Clarke thanks every god she can think of that she keeps an emergency first aid kit in her shoulder bag.

 

When she returns to the living room, Lexa is already laid out on the couch, eyes closed.  

 

Clarke hopes that the couch wasn’t expensive, because Lexa is bleeding all over it, and Clarke doesn’t know if leather stains.  Probably.  And blood stains are always impossible to get out.

 

“Lexa,” she whispers, eyes trained on the open wound in the brunette’s side, hands putting aside the other supplies as she grabs the washcloth she’d wet in the bathroom.

 

Lexa’s eyes open hazily.  

 

“Clarke.”

 

Her voice is husky, tongue clicking over the syllables of Clarke’s name in a way that has a rough shiver going down Clarke’s spine.  But there isn’t time for that thought and Clarke shoos it away.

 

“Lexa, I’m going to have to clean this first.  Make sure it doesn’t get infected.  It might hurt a little.”

 

Lexa gives a short nod and Clarke takes that as permission as she lifts the bottom of Lexa’s shirt and drags the washcloth as gently as she can over Lexa’s skin.

 

Lexa sucks in a deep breath, but otherwise does not comment.

 

Clarke works quietly and efficiently, doing her best not to agitate the other girl.  Lexa might be averse to showing how much pain she’s in, but it only seems to attune Clarke to her every movement.  

 

Lexa doesn’t make any noises, but the tensing and flexing of muscles is enough to clue Clarke in to her pain and Clarke tries to lighten her touch.

 

She grimaces as she realizes that the blood flow still isn’t quite as light as she’d like and reaches out to apply pressure.

 

She glances up only to find Lexa’s startlingly green eyes locked with hers.  Clarke swallows lightly, but refuses to break this strange little spell of theirs.  Lexa’s eyes are large and unblinking and Clarke loses track of how long the staring match continues.

 

Surprisingly, it is Lexa who breaks their stalemate.

 

“I believe the bleeding has slowed Clarke,” she says.

 

Clarke’s eyes flicker back to the wound and she lifts her hand slightly.  Lexa is right.  

 

Clarke works diligently, finishing her cleaning and then putting the rag to the side, eyes shifting towards her other supplies.

 

As soon as the area is clean, Clarke starts prepping it for stitches.  She’s got a couple of disinfectant wipes.  Honestly, Clarke would rather have a bottle of disinfectant rather than these flimsy things, but she supposes beggars can’t be choosers.

 

“This is going to sting,” she warns, before deciding to dive right in.  Like ripping a bandaid off.  Or something.

 

Lexa hisses at the first press, but seems to make an effort to relax after that.

 

Honestly, Clarke is impressed at the girl’s fortitude.  She knows she would be complaining nonstop at this point.  But Lexa seems to have it on lock.  Then again, if she fights as much as Clarke suspects, and more to the point, gets _injured_ as much as Clarke suspects, perhaps she really has gotten used to the pain.

 

The wound is clean and prepped when Clarke realizes.

 

She bites her lip.

 

“Lexa.  I don’t have any anaesthesia.”

 

Lexa turns her head and frowns at her.

 

“I would be surprised if you did Clarke.  I doubt even doctors carry anaesthesia on hand.”

 

Clarke grimaces.

 

“Yeah, but this is going to hurt.  It’s more than a couple of stitches.  Do you want me to--”

 

“It’s fine Clarke,” Lexa interjects.

 

Clarke blows out a slow breath.  Well.  No turning back now.  And at least Lexa seems to have a high pain tolerance.

 

“Right.  I’ll just… right.”

 

Clarke sterilizes her needle, wishing more than once for forceps or even gloves.  Sewing by hand is hardly the most sterile way to operate, but she doesn’t have them.  Clarke makes a mental note to start carrying some.

 

“Okay,” she breathes.

 

She’s done this a hundred times.  The wound isn’t even as bad as she feared.  The cut is nasty, and definitely shredded some skin, but not the worst thing in the world.  Certainly not the worst she’s encountered.  But somehow this feels different, stitching someone up in the low light of an apartment, with her patient on a couch after said patient saved her from getting shot and ending up another statistic.

 

Clarke breathes out and starts stitching.

 

To Lexa’s credit, she is absolutely still.  She doesn’t move except for her breathing, which is measured and slow.

 

Clarke works a neat row of stitches, working as quickly as possible without sacrificing care.  The cleaner she does this, the less likely Lexa will end up with an unseemly scar.

 

When she’s done, she sits back for a moment to admire her handiwork.  She’s always had steady hands, and her stitching proves it.  A perfect straight little row stares back at her.

 

She nudges Lexa whose eyes snap to hers.  They hold each other’s gaze for a moment before Clarke remembers herself.

 

“Can you sit up?”

 

Lexa’s movements are a little labored, but with Clarke’s hand supporting her back, Lexa slowly manages to sit upright.  

 

Clarke pulls out the gauze and quickly winds it around Lexa’s ribs to firmly secure her work.  Her fingers are deft, but she can’t help noticing the line of hard abs each time her right hand passes around.

 

Stupid.  An utterly stupid observation.  Obviously any girl that confident in her martial arts abilities works out.  And there is _definitely_ a tattoo crawling up Lexa’s ribs on the side opposite Clarke and did she _really_ have to have a tattoo because there is only so much sexiness Clarke can process at 3 a.m. after a near-death scare, adrenaline still pumping through her veins.

 

“How much do I owe you?”

 

Lexa’s lips are a hard line as she regards Clarke, head tipped to one side.

 

“Owe--?”  A sputter of disbelief comes to Clarke’s lips.  “Lexa you don’t owe me anything.  I volunteered to do this.  This is what I do for a living, remember?”

 

Lexa purses her lips.

 

“Regardless.  I do not want to feel in your debt.  Some of those supplies are not what I remember being in my cabinet--”

 

“Yeah because your so-called medicine cabinet is _empty_ \--”

 

“--and I am sure your labor is normally compensated.”  Lexa finishes, ignoring Clarke’s outburst entirely.

 

Clarke raises an eyebrow in defiance.  “As I mentioned, I’m a med _student_.  I actually do do this stuff for free when I volunteer.  Besides, consider this payback for saving my life.  Maybe I don’t want to feel in your debt either.”

 

“A debt that would not have needed correcting had you not attempted to rescue me by way of interruption.  The debt is still mine Clarke.”

 

Clarke scowls, more ruffled than she wants to admit at the idea that Lexa wants to pay her for this.  She made a personal promise to help others when she first put on her white coat at her med school’s White Coat Ceremony and that includes this gorgeous stranger she’s found on the street.

 

“Do you always speak like you stepped out of the 18th century?”

 

“Simply because I speak as the educated do, you suppose me to have been from the 18th century?”

 

“ _Simply because I speak as the educated do_.  God you’re totally proving my point.”

 

Lexa’s eyes narrow.  “Mockery is not the product of a strong mind Clarke.”

 

Clarke folds her arms over her chest in defiance although she’s certain it won’t phase Lexa at all.  It doesn’t.

 

“Well I’m not going to take your money for this.  Makes me feel like a prostitute or something when I made a personal vow to help others in need.  So too bad.”

 

Lexa huffs.

 

“Well I do not know what else to give you.  I do not exactly keep gifts on hand, just in case a stranger decides to patch me up.”

 

Clarke’s gaze sweeps around the apartment.  She hadn’t really bothered to look while she’d been hurrying to patch Lexa up.  The place is fairly bare, almost spartan.  The room they’re in is devoid of furniture save for the couch, a small table, and the tv.  Something in Clarke’s gut tells her that if she looked around, the other rooms would be similarly bare.

 

When she looks back at Lexa, Lexa’s gaze meets her own and she swallows.  Lexa’s gaze is deep and feels like it’s penetrating into her soul.  Clarke doesn’t know if it’s because she doesn’t want her staring or doesn’t want her to stop, but it’s unnerving her and she searches for something to break the silence.

 

“So why were those men trying to beat you up?” she blurts out.

 

Lexa blinks slowly, as if coming out of a trance.  Her lips twist slightly at one corner.  She shrugs lightly then frowns, presumably feeling the pull on her stitches.

 

“Their boss has been trying to get me to sell the land my dojo is on.”

 

Clarke gapes at her.

 

“At gunpoint?!”

 

Lexa smirks a little at her expression.

 

“Well that is certainly the first time they have attempted guns.  I do not really think Cage meant to use it until he had already pulled it out.”

 

“Wait…” Clarke’s mind whirls as she puts the pieces together, “Lexa, you know their names?  Why haven’t we gone to the police yet?!”

 

Lexa’s eyes bore steadily into hers.  Her voice is measured and sure.

 

“Because the police will not touch Wallace.”

 

“But they’re just going to come after you again!”

 

“Possibly.  But they will probably give up soon.  There are other plots near mine where the owners will much more readily give in.  I doubt I have much more cause to worry.”

 

Clarke’s brow creases.

 

“Lexa it’s not worth your life though.  If they come back with guns, you should just give them what they want.  If they’re willing to buy it, you could buy another gym elsewhere?”

 

Lexa’s eyes flash and her gaze sharpens.  Her face barely twitches, but suddenly she’s glaring at Clarke with such intensity that Clarke wants to back away slowly.  Instead, she stands her ground.

 

“That gym _is_ my life.  It is all that is left of my parents’ legacy.  I will not give it up just because a bully attempts to threaten me.”

 

“But Lexa they could _kill_ you.”

 

“Then I will die there.”  Lexa’s voice was dismissive and rubbed Clarke in all the wrong ways.

 

“That’s no way to live Lexa!”

 

Cool green eyes stare back at her.  “I am surviving.”

 

Clarke could feel the heat rising in her cheeks.  “Well maybe life should be about more than just surviving.  Don’t we deserve better than that?”

 

A pause.  Lexa stared into Clarke’s eyes, searching for something.  When she finally replied, her voice was a mere murmur.  “Maybe we do.”

 

They lapsed into silence.  Lexa seemed content with that proclamation and Clarke didn’t know how to respond to it.  

 

After what felt like an interminably long period of time, Clarke fidgeted and spoke up.

 

“Right.  I guess I… I should get going?”  Clarke’s voice sounded uncertain, even to her own ears.

 

Lexa frowned.  “There is still the matter of your payment.”

 

“I thought we settled this.”

 

“Clearly not.  I am not in the habit of being indebted to strangers.  It is not the way of the Commander.”

 

“The...commander?”

 

Lexa coughed lightly, eyes flitting away from Clarke’s to stare hard at a spot on the floor.  She looks almost… embarrassed.

 

“Apologies.  It is what they call me at the gym.”

 

“Why the commander?”

 

“They call me the Commander because it is a title I have earned in the arena.”

 

Clarke blinked.  “You mean when you fight.”

 

Lexa nodded in affirmation.

 

“So you’re that good, huh?”

 

Lexa shrugged off the praise.  “When you have been training as long as I have, you cannot help but win a few battles.  With my training, you would manage the same.”

 

Clarke shrugs helplessly.  “Well sorry, but I’m not exactly fit for battle.”

 

“And yet you charged in to help another.  And you saved me from certain death.”

 

Lexa’s expression betrays nothing, but Clarke is beginning to see that this is how she teases.  One has to be paying attention to notice.

 

“Yes because you were _definitely_ going to die from that cut.”

 

“Perhaps you should be called the commander of death?”  Lexa’s mouth is a grim line, but there’s something faintly amused in it.

 

Clarke snorts.  “The only commander of death I could be is the commander of little deaths…” she mumbles.

 

Clarke hadn’t meant for Lexa to hear it, but Lexa clearly does because she coughs, grimacing at the pain in her side from the sudden movement.  It’s hard to tell in the low light, but Clarke swears she can see a blush grace her cheeks.

 

Clarke’s smiles.  This badass warrior can be made to blush at slightly dirty jokes.  Somehow that endears her even more to Clarke.  Her reverie is broken by a soft yawn that takes her by surprise.  She is suddenly aware of just how tired she is.  As the lethargy settles into her bones, she can’t help thinking that she’s going to go home and sleep for _days_.  Her yawn, of course, does not go unnoticed by Lexa.

 

“It is late.  You are tired.  Please tell me how I may repay you so I do not continue to keep you here against your will.”

 

Clarke scoffed.  “I told you I don’t want anything from you.”

 

“Nothing?”  Those green eyes are searching hers again.

 

It’s late.  Clarke is beyond exhausted and Lexa’s eyes are so, _so_ green.

 

“Not _exactly_ nothing,” Clarke mumbles.  She can’t help the way her eyes flit to Lexa’s lips.

 

Lexa’s eyes zero in on Clarke’s eyes, following her eyes, and then snapping back up.  Lexa smirks and there’s something dangerous in it.  This, Clarke realizes, is the smile of someone who is a born predator.  Someone who knows exactly what she wants and how to get it.  All traces of earlier shyness absolutely evaporate.

 

Lexa steps closer and Clarke feels her breath hitch.  Lexa is warm enough that she seems to radiate heat.  Like a nuclear reactor.  Like something dangerous.

 

Lexa leans in slowly, gauging Clarke’s response, but all Clarke can do is give in to the magnetic pull, closing the last few inches between them.  Their noses bump and it’s far too late for anything other than messiness, but the kiss is warm and good and Clarke wants to whine when Lexa pulls away, eyes sparking with passion and life.

 

“I would like to take you to dinner to offer you my thanks,” Lexa murmurs.

 

Clarke can’t help the eyebrow that shoots up.  “Just to offer your thanks?”

 

Lexa’s returning laugh is low and inviting.  “No.  Perhaps I wanted to ask you out as well.”

 

Clarke grins.  “And if I say no?”

 

Lexa shifts back a fraction and blinks, clearly not expecting the response.  But Clarke is still smiling and Clarke kissed her and Lexa is not always great at reading the signs, but these signs are hard to miss.  “Then I’ll have to keep asking until you say yes.  I still have a debt to repay.”

 

“And if it takes a while?”  Clarke’s grin is cheeky and Lexa can’t help but return it with her own milder smile.

 

“It takes as long as it takes.”

 

Clarke’s smile widens and this is _so not_ where she saw her night going, but she’s not complaining at all.  At.  All.

 

“I could be convinced to say yes faster.  If you’re… _persuasive_ enough.”

 

Lexa’s smile is more genuine now, and it transforms her whole face as the slightly stoic mask gives way.  She steps forward again, cupping Clarke’s cheek with her hand and leaning in, stopping just short of Clarke’s lips.  Lexa licks her lips slightly and Clarke can’t help the way her eyes immediately hone in on the action.  When Lexa speaks, her voice is low and Clarke can’t help the shiver that goes down her spine.

 

“I’d be more than happy to try to persuade you.”

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> PS If you made it this far I’m so sorry if something is wildly out of character. I’ve only seen season 1 of this show so the only thing I know about Lexa comes from fanfiction. Of which I’ve only read AUs because I’m trying to not spoil the _whole_ show. Also, I used a couple of lines that I’ve seen commonly and assume were on the show, but if that’s just fanon or are just weirdly common, oops my bad.
> 
> PPS Please tell me someone else has made the wanheda joke about little deaths. Because you know Clarke is responsible for all of the Commander’s.


End file.
